Parenting 101
by 1221bookworm
Summary: When Roy Mustang is Fuhrer, the Amestrian military will hold classes called "Parenting 101". Because, some days, having an office full of subordinates is a lot like raising two-year-olds.


**A/N: This is my (very late) entry for RoyaiWeek 2018! Day one prompt was Parental, and it reminded me of a scene in a recent episode of Leverage where Hardison, Parker, and Elliot were having an argument, and Sophie and Nate realized they were going to have to go over and break it up. So, it got me to thinking what it must have been like when Roy pulled this whole team out of nowhere and settled them all in Central. And of course, it had to show him and Riza having to act like exasperated parents. And this piece was born.**

 **A/N 2: Of course, I don't own anything. Really. I just get to play in the worlds of geniuses.**

Lieutenant Hawkeye filed into the office last, weary from the afternoon-long briefing, which could have been easily condensed into a memo. Or, a meeting that the commanding officers attended instead of insisting on the entire staff sitting through the tedious ordeal. She'd had to surreptitiously drop her pen five times so she could bump into Breda before he could start snoring. She'd even caught Falman's head drooping toward his chest at least twice. Fuery had handled it best, even if he was constantly taking his glasses off and wiping off imaginary specs of dust. It was a wonder any glass was left in the frames from the amount they'd been cleaned this afternoon.

Of course, Colonel Mustang had been the worst. She'd lost track of how many times she'd kicked his ankles, how often she'd adjusted hair chair to bump into his. Or the number of times she'd leaned in to remind him he needed to set a better example for his team.

Hawkeye realized there would probably be many more meetings like this now they had made the move to Central. At least this one was over, and they only had a half hour before the end of the day. It wouldn't be enough time to actually do all the paperwork that had accumulated during the meeting, but she would be able to review and prioritize it for faster processing tomorrow morning.

She glanced towards the inner office where Colonel Mustang was holding a piece of paper; even from this distance, she could tell he wasn't reading it. His eyes were glazed and fixated on one spot. There wasn't a pen to be found to sign if he ever finished reading it. The Lieutenant sighed - she wouldn't press the issue tonight. Shaking her head, she returned to her own tasks. Maybe it was a good thing they hadn't entrusted the message to the commanding officers.

"Havoc, how could you?" Fuery's voice had risen several octaves, causing everyone in the office to look at the usually mild-mannered Sergeant.

The unlit cigarette danced around as Havoc chewed the end of it. "I, um, tripped into the table, see." The sentence went unfinished as Feury let out a low moan.

"It looks more like it was smashed." Falman had come over to inspect the radio pieces scattered over Fuery's desk.

"I told you, I tripped into the table. I must have landed on it harder than I thought."

Hawkeye continued sorting her paperwork. Everyone would have to adjust to the new working conditions, and she wasn't going to insert herself into the squabbles of the new team.

Eventually, the shouting was too much to ignore. The simple act of standing caused the others to look somewhat ashamed of being caught.

Fuery tried to catch her attention first, motioning to his radio with exaggerated gestures, quietly egged on by Falman's support. Havoc tried to talk over the younger man, his words less precise with the cigarette ground between his teeth. Breda had apparently appointed himself Havoc's defender and was trying to get the irritated man to calm down and not incriminate himself.

Felling a headache coming on, Hawkeye relished the silence when both had proclaimed it was "all the other's fault." She allowed them to wait, united in holding their breath, waiting for her to make some sort of determination on their argument.

A determination she had no intention of making. "I'm sorry to hear about your radio, Sergeant Fuery. However, I think your tone is uncalled for. Lieutenant Havoc." She turned her attention to the other instigator. "I believe you also owe Sergeant Fuery an apology." She ignored the moans. "In future, I hope that further disagreements will be settled in a more civilized manner."

There. That ought to do it. Hawkeye moved to the file cabinet, giving the others a chance to sort themselves out without her interference.

It almost sounded like it was working. She heard mumbled "sorry"s behind her. Just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, someone, she couldn't tell who with her back turned, muttered a parting shot. Like that, the brief reconciliation was over, and insults were hurled across the room.

She let the drawer close harder than strictly needed. "I thought we had an understanding." She kept her voice calm, letting disappointment in their behavior creep in.

Ignoring their protests, she walked crisply across the room to open the door to the inner office. "If you continue to have concerns over this matter, I suggest you bring them to Colonel Mustang."

As if on cue, the Colonel appeared in the doorway. Suddenly, everyone was busy straightening their desks and preparing to leave. The Colonel glanced around the room, seeming oblivious to the disaster that was very nearly avoided. "Don't go quiet on my account. You all sounded like you were having a party out here - I wanted to join."

If it didn't break all rules of military protocol, such as undermining the respect due a senior officer, Hawkeye would have slammed her head into her hand. It took approximately two seconds for the entire story to be recounted again, with Havoc now intentionally smashing the radio to ruin Fuery's work and Fuery blaming Havoc for his own inability to fix the radio.

Mustang raised his hand, and silence reigned. "I have spent all day in a meeting listening to Senior Command fighting like a bunch of two-year-olds who missed their nap times. We're not going to have a repeat of that here, now are we?"

The chiming clock echoed the muttered "no"s as everyone slipped out as quickly as possible.

"Not how you would have handled it, Lieutenant?" A mischievous glint in his eye proved he already knew the answer.

"I believe it's called teamwork, Sir. The combination of both of our tactics created the desired result."

Mustang clicked out the lights in his office and slung his coat over his shoulder. "They don't give classes on this at the Military Academy. Something else I'm going to have to change someday."

"What would you call the classes, Sir? How to avoid interdepartmental conflicts?"

"Oh, no. Nothing that pretentious."

"Sir?"

"I'd call it 'Parenting 101.'"

 **Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!**


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